


What's it gonna be?

by directorenno



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/directorenno/pseuds/directorenno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We lost our last match to Karasuno.”</p>
<p>By all accounts Tetsurou ought to be more sympathetic, really, but Nekoma’s victory still plays loud in his mind and there’s an aura of foreboding to Oikawa Tooru that is telling, so telling and yet so indecipherable that it makes Tetsurou want to be cross.</p>
<p>“That’s one thing we don’t have in common then.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's it gonna be?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessmiakitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessmiakitten/gifts).



> surprise!
> 
> hi there, princessmiakitten! I hope you like the fic as much as it broke me trying to write it. your prompts gave me a lot of free rein, which was both a blessing and a curse. we got matched on moniwa/ushijima, which is what I started out writing to be honest. but I wrote and rewrote and it wasn't working, so I gave your prompts another look and started working on this instead and it kind of grew a life of its own. I hope you like it.
> 
> I'd like to thank the organizer(s) of the exchange for making this so much fun to participate in.
> 
>  
> 
> also, lots of thanks to my wonderful beta, [phara](http://yagirlyacchan.tumblr.com) , for holding my hand whenever I thought I couldn't do this, even when you had your own things to worry about.
> 
>  
> 
> actual notes: one day my writing will be consistent and stable, today is not that day. so constructive criticism is always appreciated! ushijima is a challenge to write but I do hope I did my boy justice. also, this fic was written whilst listening to Shura and bad 90s music. title is from Shura's song [What's it gonna be?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJ4uBdmnKds)
> 
>  
> 
> to whomever stumbles across this fic, I hope you enjoy it. :3

  * **April, first year**



 

Shoes squeak against the vinyl and volleyballs soar and crash, filling the air with the buzz of warm-ups. Yet when Tetsurou glances back, Kenma isn’t playing the latest game in one of the corners and Taketora doesn’t slap his shoulder in greeting. Instead Koutarou elbows him in the side with an excited grin as they line up. The welcome speech is brief and the coach orders the new students to scatter in search of a partner for warm-up tosses of their own.

A boy sidles up next to Tetsurou then, slinging an arm around his shoulder, and Tetsurou doesn’t miss the cunning behind his smile.

“Hey there, partner,” the boy says, supple fingers quick as they squeeze into Tetsurou’s shoulder, and walks off to a corner all for their own. Tetsurou glances over his shoulder and finds Koutarou laughing, clapping some sour-faced fellow on the back with a little too much force.

“You coming?” his warm-up partner yells from across the court, miffed, and Tetsurou runs over.

The warm-up is monotone work, back and forth, back and forth, and again back and forth – all repetition and no variation. It is supposed to be; the main idea being to make friends and get acquainted after all.

“Oikawa Tooru,” the boy offers, a few tosses in.

“Kuroo,” he replies, “I used to play for Nekoma.”

“Nekoma went to nationals, didn’t they?”

“We did,” Tetsurou nods, thoughtful, and he glances over his shoulder to search for Bo. It doesn’t take him long to find him, catching and sending tosses like everyone else but making twice the noise for it. Tetsurou smiles, there’s little he can’t forgive his friend. “But we didn’t make it that far.”

“What about you?” Tetsurou asks. “Where did you play?”

“Aoba Jousai,” Oikawa says, the tip of his tongue peeking out as he catches a toss and returns the ball to Tetsurou. The name rings a faraway bell.

“Miyagi,” he clarifies. Ah.

 “You must know Karasuno then? They’re friends, kind of.”

There is a pause then, transparent as Oikawa frowns at the volleyball he’s holding. The ball swirls in his hands and Oikawa sighs.

“We lost our last match to Karasuno.”

By all accounts Tetsurou ought to be more sympathetic, really, but Nekoma’s victory still plays loud in his mind and there’s an aura of foreboding to Oikawa Tooru that is telling, so telling and yet so indecipherable that it makes Tetsurou want to be cross.

“That’s one thing we don’t have in common then.”

The volleyball slams into Tetsurou’s chest with a little too much force and Oikawa raises his eyes to Tetsurou’s with a smile that brightens into a grin.

“Kuroo-san, that’s _mean_ ,” Oikawa’s voice is a warm, deceiving purr, “If you want my undivided attention, you should just say so.”

 

 

“Well I don’t like him,” Koutarou says, eyebrows knit together into a stubborn frown as he takes a peeved bite out of his meat bun. Tetsurou chuckles and bumps their shoulders together. Koutarou turns his knowing eyes up at Tetsurou in accusation and a lazy grin spreads over Tetsurou’s lips.

“You’ve known Oikawa for six hours, Bo, give it some time,” he says. If Oikawa just so happened to aim all his serves at Tetsurou with that same sweet, practiced smile during their earlier practice match then Tetsurou has only himself to blame.

Next to him, Koutarou bristles. “He was mean to my _friend_!”

“Who you’ve _also_ known for approximately six hours.”

Koutarou pins Tetsurou down with another sharp stare before he digs into the rest of his meat bun.

“I’ve known Ushijima for _years!_ –”

“ _Six hours!_ ”

 “ – … We just never had the chance to talk until today!”

Tetsurou’s grin spreads across his features and Koutarou bumps their shoulders together a second time, a hint of a smile quirking at his own lips.

 

 

  * **June, first year**



 

“Kuroo.”

“… _Kuroo_.”

Tetsurou keeps his eyes on his calculus textbook, ignoring Oikawa as he leans over the side of the table, arms spread out over the surface, head hanging in front of Tetsurou’s.

“Kurooooo!” he whines and drops back into his seat, propping the palms of his hands under his chin.

“You promised you’d help!” Oikawa tries again, tapping his fingers against his cheeks.

“Kuroo!”

Tetsurou turns the page of his textbook and continues reading. Next to him, Koutarou shifts in his seat, leaning over his book as he looks between Tetsurou and Oikawa with a curious lift of his brows. He motions for Oikawa to come closer and Oikawa perks up, hands falling back to the table as he too leans over his books, not caring for the papers that crumple under the friction. Koutarou glances back at Tetsurou a last time.

“He can keep this up all day, you know,” he says, voice lowered to a soft hush. Oikawa huffs, miffed, and drops back into his seat with all the appropriate theatrics.

“Well so can I,” he says.

Koutarou shrugs and turns his attention back to his own work. Oikawa and Tetsurou aren’t the only ones with final exams after all.

“Kuroo-san,” Oikawa tries again after a while, annoyed hands smoothing over one of the crumpled papers to keep busy. Tetsurou’s eyes remain trained on his books. Oikawa sighs and brings a hand up to rest over his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” he says with a grumble. “… Kuroo … _sensei_.”

“That’s not enough and you know it,” Kuroo says, brushing a speck of dust off the edge of his textbook. To the side Koutarou tries to suppress a smile and Oikawa groans, hand slipping off his eyes and over his face.

“Kuroo-sensei the all-knowing, killer of killer blocks and owner of amazing, breathtaking hair which I will never, ever make fun of again, _please_ help me find this damned kanji in the dictionary already. I can’t find it _anywhere_.”

Tetsurou drops his pen a second later and reaches for Oikawa’s books, dragging them over to his side of the table.

“You’re most likely searching by the wrong radical again,” Tetsurou says, muttering under his breath as he turns his gaze first to the circled kanji in Oikawa’s book and then to the giant dictionary.

 

 

“I’m worried about next year,” Bokuto admits to the dark, hours after Oikawa’s gone home. Kuroo turns in his bed, facing Koutarou in his guest futon. He already knows what this is about.

“It’s not our business to meddle, Bo.”

“Okay, but what if next year our setter refuses to set to our future ace, huh? And we lose all our matches? And we get so depressed over losing all our matches that we flop our exams? What then? And what if –”

Tetsurou sighs, “I assume you have some sort of idea?”

 

 

Oikawa stands frozen in the doorway of Tetsurou’s little, rundown apartment. There is a grimace on his face, muddling the smile he tries so hard to maintain. After a solid minute, he turns his gaze to Tetsurou and somehow manages to smooth out his expression.

“Kuroo,” he purrs, “You didn’t tell me Ushiwaka-chan would be here too.”

“We _all_ have exams to study for, don’t we?”

Oikawa shoots him a look so sharp, Tetsurou almost regrets letting Bo rope him into this one. Tetsurou readies another smile and motions towards his already overcrowded kitchen table.

“You coming in?” he asks, turning his gaze back to Oikawa. They watch each other for a while, Oikawa’s features molding into every possible expression.

“Of course,” he says at last with a little huff of dignity, adjusting his strap bag before he takes off his shoes and leaves them in the entryway. Tetsurou smiles and closes the door behind them, settling back in his chair and watching as Oikawa takes out his books.

The mood is heavy and the chatter remains little, even when Tetsurou calls for a break and offers them tea and snacks, each of them opting to focus on their books instead. But when several hours later they all leave through Tetsurou’s front door, Koutarou calls for a high five.

“No one died!” he grins and Tetsurou slaps their palms together.

“Yet.”

 

 

It is near the end of June, finals creeping closer at a faster pace every day, that Tetsurou finds himself – to no one’s surprise – bent over Oikawa’s books instead of his own once more.

“We learned this kanji in junior high, Oikawa, what the hell,” Tetsurou says, shaking his head as he reaches for the dictionary and points out the correct radical, letting Oikawa search the kanji on his own. Oikawa glowers at him from the side.

“Not all of us can be kanji wizards, now can we?”

Tetsurou turns Oikawa’s book towards Koutarou and lifts a questioning eyebrow. Bokuto gives it a look, scrunching his eyebrows together.

“Something business,” he announces at last, shrugging his shoulders. Tetsurou heaves a dramatic sigh.

“How did you two even make Todai?”

“Sports scholarship,” Oikawa says with a dramatic sigh of his own, earning himself a high five from Bokuto. Tetsurou turns towards Ushijima, about to ask when Ushijima lifts a sarcastic eyebrow at him.

“Guess I truly _am_ the plebs amongst kings!”

Ushijima smiles and rises a little in his seat, ignoring the tongue Oikawa sticks out at him as he gives Oikawa’s paper a quick glance.

“That’s the kanji for public enterprise by the way.”

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Kuroo mutters.

 

 

  * **August, first year**



 

Tetsurou leans back against the wooden engawa, legs dangling over the edge and high grass tickling the soles of his feet. The moon hangs low in the sky, the tiniest sliver of a beginning crescent against a backdrop of nothing—if not for the loud snoring coming from the team’s joint bedroom. There is a softer rustling in the background then, a door sliding open and shut, a stuttered inhale of surprise.

“You’re awake.”

Tetsurou hums, turning his head. “So are you.”

Oikawa stands near the sliding door, alarm plastered over his features and Tetsurou pats the empty space next to him with a smile. Oikawa relaxes and takes the offer up with a small smile of his own, just wide enough to discern in the dark. His hair sticks to his forehead, either from sweat or a late night visit to the hot springs. The important thing is—it makes Tetsurou’s eyes linger the way they have for a week now, treacherous and unguarded and so very much not according to plan.

Oikawa hugs his legs with one arm, resting his head against his knees as he watches Tetsurou with a smile. His other hand reaches out to scratch at one of his mosquito bites. Tetsurou nods his head towards the cell phone clasped in Oikawa’s hand.

“Still no signal?”

Oikawa’s smile bitters and he shakes his head.

“Besides,” he sighs, “he wouldn’t be awake at this hour anyways.”

He. That friend Oikawa’s been trying to reach all week long. How happy Oikawa had been when they had found wifi in the only coffee shop in town earlier in the week. Tetsurou nods and finds himself wondering again how Kenma is doing.

“What’s your deal with him anyways?”

Oikawa raises his head, frowning. “Who? Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“You like him or something?” Tetsurou turns his head and watches how Oikawa erupts into a fit of silent chuckles. He also watches how Oikawa’s face freezes just a split second before the laughter.

“I’m just saying,” Tetsurou shrugs, “if you need someone to talk with about crushing on your childhood friend… I’ve been there.”

Oikawa stills and trains his eyes on Tetsurou in contemplation.

“The Kenma guy?”

Tetsurou nods and turns his gaze back to the sky, soft smile gracing his features, and Oikawa turns to himself with a frown, lost in thought. Silence settles over them, comfortable enough for neither of them to break it. Until Oikawa does.

“You know,” he muses, continuing when Tetsurou hums in acknowledgment, “I always kind of thought you had a thing for Bokuto.”

It’s not fair how Oikawa reads him so much better than he can read Oikawa.

“Let me rephrase myself,” Tetsurou says, grin spreading, “if you need someone to talk with about crushing on your best friends… I’m an expert.”

“Oh.”

Tetsurou nods and lifts his gaze back towards the sky. The moon has skipped several steps ahead by now, followed her trail farther down. Oikawa quiets down next to him, head once again resting against his knees as he swipes his thumb over the screen of his phone to check for new messages that won’t be there. Tetsurou breaks the silence this time.

“So what’s your ideal guy then?”

There is a pause, one where the light of Oikawa’s screen falls shut and Oikawa’s eyes flit to Tetsurou’s face, smile tugging at his lips.

“I never said I was gay,” he says, voice lilting teasingly.

“Kind reminder that I have _seen_ the dating apps on your phone.”

“Kind reminder that bisexuality _exists_ and is valid.”

The smile is still plastered on Oikawa’s lips, soft and sweet as he snuggles closer into his knees, eyes lulled half-closed, but there’s a pit in Tetsurou’s stomach and his grin shifts into a slow grimace, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, “that wasn’t considerate of me.”

Oikawa lets the silence creep back in, studying Tetsurou with a careful smile before he shrugs.

“It’s quite alright. Sometimes I’m not even sure if that’s what I am, you know,” Oikawa says.

Tetsurou nods, but does not press. Oikawa gazes at the sky and chews on his bottom lip in contemplation, before he turns back to hold Tetsurou’s gaze with a nervous chuckle and a shake of his head. Maybe it is the fragile mood they have built between them, an atmosphere of careful consideration for each other; maybe it is a testimony of their young friendship, a need or wish for them to grow closer. But Oikawa lowers his gaze to the wooden floor and shuffles closer. His hair is wet against Tetsurou’s shoulder, damping his yukata where they touch.

“There’s no stars out today,” Oikawa says, observing the night sky above.

Tetsurou nods, “Because of the light pollution, I guess.”

Tetsurou feels more than hears Oikawa take a deep breath, his voice a mumble when he speaks next.

“Well, it’s still kind of romantic.”

Tetsurou supposes it is, overlooking the inner courtyard pond, a new moon cycle slowly treading out of sight, rays of sunlight breaking through the dark and the first of dragonflies waking for the day and taking to the air. The view is quite nice, indeed.

“If you’re OK with the snoring orchestra in the background,” Tetsurou says, earning himself a series of tired chuckles. Even now, Tetsurou’s eyes can’t help themselves, drifting over to Oikawa’s fingers as they play with the screen of his phone. Light on, light off, light on, light –

“You should go to bed,” Tetsurou says, jerking his shoulder in a vain attempt to throw Oikawa off and trying to avoid the retorting pinch in his side. “Just one more day of camp left.”

“One more day,” Oikawa echoes.

 

 

  * **October, first year**



 

A slow Saturday finds Tetsurou cheering from the bleachers, framed by Bokuto and Oikawa on either side as they lean over the balcony. Oikawa tightens his fist around the railing, face scrunched together in a displeased frown that just won’t disappear no matter how many jokes Tetsurou makes.

“It’s so frustrating,” Oikawa says with a growl, “how come he’s the only one that gets to play?”

Beneath them, Ushijima slams a spike into the opposite side of the court and earns the team another score. Bokuto hums his agreement, brows furrowing together into a grave crease of his own and Oikawa slaps a supporting hand against his shoulder.

“Worst part is he refuses to boast about it,” Tetsurou agrees.

 

 

“You’re not even happy about being on the team,” Oikawa says with an uppity huff, as if it is a personal offense to his being, and jabs one of his fingers into Ushijima’s side for a short but swift attack.

“Well it is a little different from before –” Ushijima begins, struggling to fight off the arm Bokuto holds locked around his neck, only to end up with Bokuto’s hand roughing up his hair even more.

“Such a rascal,” Bokuto mutters, just as Oikawa demands an explanation for Ushijima’s outrageous statement. He aims another poke at Ushijima’s ribs, except this time Ushijima manages to block it with his elbow.

“You know, it’s just… they don’t care to rely on me, it’s not so much about winning for them.”

“At least you’re _on_ the team,” Tetsurou pitches in from the front, where he leads the four of them to his apartment. Oikawa backs him up with another finger crashing into Ushijima’s side for a second time.

“I’d rather have you guys on the team –”

And it’s so genuine and bold and so typically Ushijima to catch all three of them off guard, that Tetsurou finds his shoulders shaking, laughter bubbling up.

“That’s _so sweet_ , Ushijima,” he croons just as Ushijima continues.

“– because I like to win.”

There is a yelp then, followed by grumbling and when Tetsurou turns around Bokuto has jumped on top of Ushijima’s back and Oikawa is launching another, more vigorous attack on Ushijima’s ribs. Tetsurou has to hold onto his stomach.

“This is why you always get into trouble with the upperclassmen,” Oikawa says, each word accentuated by a poke on every piece of open skin he can find. Ushijima laughs gruffly and after some scuffling, manages to shake them off.

When they’ve calmed down Bokuto grabs onto Ushijima’s shoulder again, only this time he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“At least you know you’ll be _our_ ace in due time,” he grins.

Tetsurou is about to object when Oikawa beats him to it.

“Don’t put yourself down, Kou-chan,” he says, “You’re still a contender too!”

“I’m not losing to you,” Ushijima says, a promise, and Tetsurou smiles because Bokuto’s pride is never far behind in these quarrels.

“I’d like to see you try,” Bokuto says, puffing out his chest. They’ve been over this topic at least ten times the past week alone and from Bokuto’s excited bravado and Ushijima’s unintentional goading, Tetsurou can tell things won’t end any differently this time around.

It’s better to focus on the way home, to make sure they don’t end up lost in the neighborhood’s many alleys. But an arm slides over his shoulders then and when Tetsurou turns his head, he comes face to face with Oikawa’s up-to-something grin.

“So Kou-chan’s challenging Ushiwaka to another one of their childish duels,” Oikawa says.

“So I’m hearing,” Tetsurou drawls with a grin, “You wouldn’t have any hand in that, would you?”

“I quite enjoy seeing them get all into it,” Oikawa admits, “But no, they manage to wind each other up on their own just fine.”

They walk on, Tetsurou guiding them around every corner and through every street until they climb the stairs up to his apartment. It’s nice, walking with Oikawa latched onto his arm and with Bokuto and Ushijima’s bickering in the background.

“The lights are on,” Oikawa says, two steps ahead of him.

“It’s probably Kenma, he comes by sometimes.”

“Kenma?” Ushijima pipes up behind him, confused.

“His best friend,” Oikawa says with a wide grin, probably to gloat about the fact he knows something Ushijima doesn’t.

Bokuto clasps a hand on Tetsurou’s shoulder, just as Tetsurou sticks a hand into the pocket of his jeans to fish out his door key.

“No fair, Kuroo, I thought _I_ was your best friend.”

Tetsurou huffs and manages to open the door, letting his friends crowd into the entrance to his apartment before he attempts to find a reply that will make Bokuto stop tugging at his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Oikawa adds, holding back laughter, “I thought we shared something special after all our little talks.”

“Alright, alright – you’re _all_ my best friend!”

“That’s not how it works, Kuroo!” a voice chimes in from the other side of the room, huddled on Tetsurou’s sofa and Tetsurou sighs, lowering his head in defeat.

“Yeah, you have to pick!” Bokuto agrees, waving a hand at Kenma in greeting.

“Fine,” Tetsurou says, latching onto an unsuspecting Ushijima, who’s in the midst of taking off his shoes, with a hug, “you’re all demoted from now on. If any of you need me, I’ll just be here spending time with my _new_ best friend, Ushijima.”

 

 

“So _Kenma_ , huh?” Oikawa asks from where he leans against Tetsurou’s doorway. Tetsurou gives him another soft push, hopeful that maybe this time it will make Oikawa disappear and he will finally be able to crawl into his waiting bed sheets. To no avail.

“Yes,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, “ _Kenma_. Why?”

Oikawa shrugs, casual, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Tetsurou knows he’s staring again, tired eyes searching and trailing lips and fingertips that they shouldn’t.

“I just… expected someone a little more Bokuto and a little less…”

“Kenma?”

“Exactly!”

Tetsurou snorts and crosses his arms, ignoring the frown that’s distorting Oikawa’s features second by second.

 “What? Don’t tell me you’re upset you can’t pinpoint my type?”

Oikawa shrugs, frown deepening the little creases on his forehead. “A little actually, yeah.”

Tetsurou shakes his head and reaches out for Oikawa’s shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, attempting to steer the other out of his doorway and into the cold night, “ _goodnight, Oikawa._ ”

 

 

  * **December, first year**



 

Mid-December brings temperatures cold enough for Tetsurou to fold up his table, stow it away in the closet and bring out his kotatsu instead. A good decision, as it finds Oikawa huddled under the futon, purring pleasantly and resting his feet against Tetsurou’s legs.

Oikawa’s ‘ _A Guide to_ _Business English I_ ’ notes are arranged into a neat stack on Bokuto’s orders, claiming they would continue his tutoring sessions tomorrow. Hypocritically, Bokuto’s forgotten his own notes in a scattered mess over Tetsurou’s table. And, as usual, there’s close to no evidence Ushijima was there at all. Tetsurou’s long since given up himself, head resting on his notes as he prays for some kind of magical absorption of the content. Or maybe a metamorphosis of some kind, _yes_ , if he actually _was_ his notes, he would also _be_ the content and then maybe he would finally, _finally_ –

“Don’t do that thing.”

Oikawa’s voice sounds faraway, as if it was mumbled into the pillow he stole off Tetsurou’s bed earlier in the evening. Probably, Tetsurou figures, because it is. He grunts in response.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you get all up in your head and freak out about your grades. You’re literally the only one of us to keep track of your studies during the semester.”

“Ushijima –”

“Ushijima’s been playing matches, you really think he has the time to be married to volleyball _and_ spend as much of his time studying as you do?”

When Tetsurou remains silent, Oikawa snorts.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You know, Oikawa, you _do_ have your own place. You could always just go drive yourself up the walls _there_ and leave me be in peace.”

Oikawa kicks his foot into Tetsurou’s leg, cooing something about Tetsurou missing him and it’s Tetsurou’s turn to snort. They quiet down after, Tetsurou gradually sliding down until he too ends up sprawled over the floor, lulled half asleep by the warmth of the kotatsu.

“You should go home,” he says, slurred by the sleep that’s crept up on him, and he hears Oikawa nod, far off and drowsy.

But Oikawa doesn’t move and Tetsurou doesn’t mention it again.

 

 

The volleyball club has an annual tradition of hosting Christmas parties, with a secret Santa and everything. So Tetsurou – like every other player on the team without a significant other – finds himself in the gym on the night of the 24th. Cheesy Christmas songs are playing and someone decorated a plastic Christmas tree for the occasion. Tetsurou holds a drink in hand as he talks to one of the upperclassmen about their favorite pick for new captain, but his eyes are doing that treacherous, treacherous thing again.

Oikawa’s charming a group of upperclassmen of his own, smiling bright and wearing one of those ridiculous, fluffy deer antlers and he somehow has the audacity to look cute in them.

Tetsurou doesn’t know how long it takes, but after some time Oikawa catches his gaze from across the room, smiling in a way that Tetsurou barely registers his upperclassmen excusing himself. Tetsurou grins, rolling his eyes when Oikawa winks at him.

An arm wraps around Tetsurou’s neck then and booming laughter chimes as Bokuto steers Tetsurou around and leads him the opposite way.

“I’m calling an intervention,” he explains, grin a little too knowing to Tetsurou’s liking, a little too cheeky, “because if you keep making flirty eyes at our future captain, I might not be the only one to realize what’s going on.”

Tetsurou shakes his head, laughing as he shoves Bokuto off.

“You’re talking nonsense, Bo.”

Bokuto gives him a leveled stare, not quite believing what he’s saying.

“Am I now?”

“Yes,” Tetsurou nods, “because one, as the future captain of the team I can hardly be making flirty eyes at myself. And two, I’m not flirting with Oikawa.”

“Oh really?” Bokuto asks, eyebrows shooting up and suppressing a bemused smile.

“Yes, really.”

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says matter-of-factly, bracing his shoulders, “you haven’t stopped flirting with Oikawa since the beginning of forever, really.”

 

 

Bokuto’s rummaging in the kitchen, cooking up some omurice as the TV plays some horrible ‘80s horror movie in the background. It’s only the two of them, Oikawa and Ushijima returning home for the new year. Tetsurou sits slouched over the kotatsu, hands stretching wide as they try to grip onto the edges of the table. His phone lights up with a new notification, disrupting Tetsurou from doing nothing.

Tetsurou reaches for his phone, unlocking the screen and grinning wide when he opens the notification. It’s a picture of Oikawa and Ushijima sitting in the train, posing with their fingers held into a v-sign. Oikawa’s tongue is sticking out and from the disgruntled expression Tetsurou can tell Oikawa pestered Ushijima into it. There is a message scribbled over it, reading ‘ _don’t pout too much whilst we’re gone_ ’ and Tetsurou snorts.

“Who’s pouting?”

“Who’s pouting why?” Bokuto asks, putting down two plates of omurice on the kotatsu, and Tetsurou grins and hands his phone over.

 

 

  * **February, first year**



 

“Come on,” Tetsurou says, jumping a hug on Ushijima, who startles, “best friend benefits means you get to steal at least two fries off my plate.”

Ushijima tightens the hold on the volleyball in his hands, glancing around with a lost frown at the near empty gym. Oikawa’s the only other player left, practicing his sets with a determined crease in his forehead. Tetsurou waves his hand, trying to catch his attention.

“It’s already ten?” Ushijima asks.

“More like ten thirty, any longer and you’d risk turning into an actual volleyball.”

Tetsurou’s smile is bright and cheeky and Ushijima’s blank face in response is not. Tetsurou chuckles, clapping Ushijima on the back.

“Alright, alright, just go shower already,” he says, sending Ushijima off towards the showers with a light, encouraging push.

He turns towards Oikawa next and there’s that smile on Oikawa’s face again, a little too high, a little too much; Tetsurou frowns. They’ve been over this before and there’s little left to say that will convince Oikawa not to go through with this.

“You guys can go on ahead –”

“Resting your muscles is as important as –”

“I _know_ that, Kuroo, and I won’t be too long.”

Tetsurou is about to say something, push a little more, when Bokuto calls out to him, emerging from the locker room with a grin.

“Ushijima says he forgot his shower gel and I just finished mine,” Bokuto says, holding up his empty bottle of shower gel for emphasis, and Tetsurou sighs. By all means, the coach should be paying him for taking care of his star players and keeping them out of trouble. He spares Oikawa a last glance, meets with that annoying smile and sighs again.

“You could’ve just taken mine out of my bag,” he mutters as he passes by Bokuto on the way to the locker room, disappearing to save Ushijima from smelling all through dinner. Except when he sticks his shower gel through the shower curtain, Ushijima doesn’t quite seem to understand what Tetsurou is doing.

“But why?” he asks, taking the bottle from Tetsurou all the same. A split second of silence follows and then Ushijima utters an ‘oh’ in sudden understanding. “Is this another one of those best friend benefits?”

When Tetsurou reemerges from the locker room, a showered and dressed Ushijima in his trail, he stops in his tracks. Tetsurou doesn’t know what magical reasoning Bokuto used, or what he said or did to convince Oikawa, but there Bokuto and Oikawa are, cleaning up the last of the equipment. When Bokuto notices him staring, he sends a quick wink Tetsurou’s way, fingers signing an OK.

 

 

“This is unhealthy,” Oikawa says, complaining despite the greedy bites he takes out of his burger.

“It’s cheap and still open at this time of day, would you rather eat convenience store food?” Tetsurou counters and Oikawa sends him a sharp glance from across the table.

“At least they have lunchboxes.”

“ _Unhealthy_ lunchboxes,” Bokuto says, grinning as Oikawa’s expression grows more and more annoyed. Bokuto reaches out to ruffle his hair. “If we leave the gym a little earlier I can cook us something healthy and nutritious next time, alright?”

“That’d be nice,” Ushijima says, humming as he sticks another fry into his mouth.

“I’m assuming that means you’re all inviting yourselves over again to my – hey, don’t!” Tetsurou says, slapping Bokuto’s hands away from his pack of fries. Bokuto gives him the big, adorable eyes but Tetsurou steels his resolve and shakes his head. “No way, Bo.”

“It’s nice that we’re all finally part of the starting line-up now,” Ushijima says between bites and Tetsurou hums his agreement without thinking.

“You already _were_ part of the starting line-up,” Oikawa says, a roll of his eyes not far behind.

“That’s right,” Bokuto agrees, play narrowing his eyes at Ushijima until they all crack a smile.

“Bokuto, I said no!” Tetsurou says, dragging his pack of fries closer to himself and shielding them with his arm. Bokuto picks at Tetsurou’s arm with his finger, whining with distress.

“ _Please_ …”

“No!”

Ushijima bridges Tetsurou’s arm then, giving him a leveled look as he digs two fries out of the pack.

“Best friend benefits,” he says, smiling as he hands them over to Bokuto and leaves Tetsurou gaping.

 

 

“I know you’ve been nervous about playing him at our first game,” Tetsurou says several days later, his resolve to leave the matter be finally breaking. Oikawa halts as he frowns at Tetsurou from the other side of the table, pen falling silent against his notebook.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says with an indignant sniff.

A disbelieving grin spreads over Tetsurou’s features and he shakes his head, chuckles bubbling up.

“Yes, you do.”

Oikawa lets silence creep between, refusing to reply and Tetsurou growls.

“I know you’re childhood friends and all that but there’s absolutely no reason to be freaking out over it like this. If you play the way you’ve been practicing lately, we’re going to lose the game and –”

“There’s still over a month left, I’ll get my act together by then –”

“That’s _not_ what I mean, Oikawa, and you know it!”

“Kuroo,” Oikawa bites, tone cool as he takes a deep breath, “we’re not having this conversation.”

 

 

  * **May, second year**



 

Iwaizumi is, for all that Tetsurou can tell, a regular guy – albeit a particularly beefy one. His smile is wide and warm, trusting as he introduces himself to Oikawa’s new teammates with a hand in his spiked hair and introduces his own in return. He hugs Oikawa close and smiles even brighter when he does. He has a habit of shoving Oikawa when the latter is being impossible and, sure, maybe his brows are ticked together in a permanent frown when he isn’t smiling or joking, but all in all, Tetsurou doesn’t understand why Oikawa is so stressed out.

Maybe, Tetsurou figures, this is how Oikawa felt when he first met Kenma.

 Oikawa, for all his smiles and words of assurance that he is fine, is lucky to even be on the court. The coach has made a habit out of chewing him out, for not paying attention, for not being on top of his game, for slacking. And yet Oikawa still gets to come out on the court, playing better than he has in all of three months. His movements stutter as he goes, but their last practice game pales in comparison.

Iwaizumi is, for all that Tetsurou can tell, a regular guy, but he shines on the court. He is a born ace, in the way that Tetsurou has always been a little jealous of, and the setter relies on him more than he relies on the actual ace. (Reliable and upfront in a way that is so unapologetic, it reminds Tetsurou of Bokuto, of Ushijima, of Yamamoto, of Lev even.) Iwaizumi may shine when he reaches for the volleyball, jump high, his stance wide, arm crashing down, it won’t stop Tetsurou from trying.

Every time the ball slams down, he jumps for the block. Sometimes it shoots past him, sometimes it does not and Iwaizumi’s face will twist together in frustration as a golden grin grows on Tetsurou’s own. Yes, Iwaizumi may shine when he plays, but it doesn’t ensure him the win. Not when Tetsurou grabs hold of Ushijima by the scruff of the neck and drags him closer for the block; not when the ball crashes into the flat of their palms and falls to the floor, inches away from the libero.

Just like that, they win.

 

 

They assemble outside of the gym, the captain calling out over the crowd to know if everyone is there. It is habit as much as it is instinct, Tetsurou’s hand hopping from head to head until he ends up face to face with Ushijima, engaged in a similar act of counting heads. Of the same mind, they nod.

“I’ll go get him,” Tetsurou says, leaving Ushijima behind to wave towards the captain and explain they’re missing one of the team.

The amount of people that matches draw always astonished Tetsurou and the surprise is no less then it was during his first match, but even he can tell, as he watches the gym slowly emptying out, people dragging themselves through the doors and towards their homes; the crowd is less, so much less, than it used to be at high school matches.

Tetsurou heads towards the locker room instead. One of the benefits of playing one of the last matches of the day is that they can leave the locker room at their own pace, without the rush or pressure of another team waiting to use the locker room. Oikawa must still be there, taking his sweet time as usual. He finds Oikawa in the locker room, as expected. He finds him crying, face red and ugly and definitely not as expected.

“Oikawa, what the hell?” Tetsurou asks, not quite the kind, supporting response he wanted to go for, but the panicked one at the front of his mind. Oikawa rubs at his eyes, trying to hold in any further tears.

“I don’t know,” Oikawa says, shrugging because there is nothing to be done about it and he laughs then, voice distorted and a little broken. “I honestly don’t know why I’m crying.”

Tetsurou makes his way over, taking a seat next to Oikawa on one of the benches. He reaches out a hand and lets it awkwardly hover in the air, unsure of whether Oikawa will appreciate the gesture or not. But then Oikawa breaks out into another bout of tears and Tetsurou wraps his arm around Oikawa, tugging him closer to his chest.

“I just am,” Oikawa says, voice cracking and sounding as befuddled as Tetsurou feels. Tetsurou squeezes Oikawa’s arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Emotional release, most likely,” he says, “you’ve been very stressed lately.”

Oikawa hums and covers his eyes with his hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He lets his head drop, leaning into Tetsurou for support.

“Or because you’re tired, maybe, it doesn’t look like you’ve been getting a lot of sleep lately either.”

Oikawa snorts and elbows Tetsurou in the side when he starts on another ‘or’.

“Shut up,” he says, wiping the tears from his eyes in vain. So Tetsurou does, rubbing Oikawa’s arm in support and texting Bo for the team to go on ahead.

 

 

A study Saturday turned into a movie night finds the lot of them sprawled over Tetsurou’s apartment. The television’s just been shut and Tetsurou walks back into the living room, carrying his guest futon and a pair of extra covers he dug out from the depths of his closet. He takes careful steps, trying not to stumble over Ushijima’s long, tangled limbs or bump into Bokuto where he lies adorably curled up on the floor. They each get a spare cover to tuck them in, a smile forming on Tetsurou’s face as his fingers ruffle just once through Bokuto’s sticky, gelled hair.

The guest futon goes to Oikawa, who complains often and loud about how cold he sometimes gets. Oikawa lies wrestled into Tetsurou’s sofa, wrist and ankles hanging over the edge as he drools into Tetsurou’s favorite pillow. Tetsurou moves Oikawa, tugging at his arms so that he is no longer cutting off the blood supply to his fingers, and Tetsurou pats his head. It’s a little dry, a little ticklish against his hand, but Tetsurou grins as Oikawa leans into the touch.

He is about to turn away when a hand snakes around his wrist and a half sleeping Oikawa grins up at him. Oikawa’s voice is warm and a little far away when he speaks, brain not quite awake, but his smile wide and bright and genuine.

“I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” he says, eyes fluttering closed as Tetsurou pats his head a last time before he too leaves in search of his bed, pulse racing.

 

 

  * **July, second year**



 

The end of mid-July marks the start of summer camp and finds Tetsurou back on the veranda of their guesthouse in the dark hours of the early morning. No grass tickles his soles this time and the moon hangs high in the night sky, half-full and bright, demanding to be seen. The first soft rumbles of snoring roll through the paper door behind him and Tetsurou can hear the new members talking in excited whispers a few rooms away.

Paper rustles behind him, the panel door sliding open and closed, and Tetsurou’s eyes flit over, landing on Oikawa’s form grinning down at him. Tetsurou is used to it by now, to the way his eyes linger a little too long, to the lump in his throat.

“Oh, you’re still awake,” Oikawa says, voice high and surprised as he moves to sit in the spot next to Tetsurou. Oikawa smiles then, a gleam to it that betrays he isn’t surprised at all, and Tetsurou grins when their eyes meet.

“So are you,” he says.

“Thought I’d keep you company as you break your head over everything and nothing,” Oikawa says, shrugging, before he opens a small tube of something, rubbing some of it over his index finger. The soft smell is telling and Tetsurou chuckles.

“We’ve only been here for like six hours,” he says, scratching his arm, and Oikawa shrugs again in response.

“What can I say, they really like me,” he grins and searches for mosquito bites on his arms, applying the gel where he finds them.

A smile melts onto Tetsurou’s features, watching as Oikawa tends to his tiny, bitty wounds. Watching, as Oikawa bends his knee to search for bites on his leg, yukata sliding off to reveal long, long legs and Tetsurou veers his gaze away, back towards the sky and the glowing moon. Because he stares and he stares and he _knows_ that he does. It’s unfair, the way his eyes linger, the way Oikawa’s arm burns into his skin whenever he puts an arm around Tetsurou’s back. And sometimes, just sometimes, it’s unfair the way he thinks Oikawa started gazing back, started letting his touches linger. Treacherous.

Oikawa holds out his hand expectantly then, leg sliding back over the edge of the wooden veranda.

“Your arm,” he says and Tetsurou complies, stretching out his arm for Oikawa to take. One hand snakes around his wrist, the other slides fingers over his skin, creeping up and down as they search, until they find the bite and circle the swelling.

“There,” Oikawa says, the aloe vera cool against Tetsurou’s skin.

“Thanks,” Tetsurou says, gazes meeting.

Oikawa’s eyes are fire.

“My pleasure.”

The night is humid, too humid even for late July, and the moon glows high, revealing patches of grass and making the pond glisten. Tetsurou leans back against the floor, fingers spread as he returns his eyes to the garden and trails it up towards the sky.

“Not a star in sight again,” Oikawa says, humming as he too leans back. His fingers spread wide over the floor, colliding with Tetsurou’s. Oikawa’s fingers are sticky wet from the gel, tangling together with Tetsurou’s own. And Tetsurou lets him, staring at the sky with his heart beating in his throat.

Tetsurou points towards a flickering light with his other hand.

“There’s one there!”

Oikawa follows his fingers, searching for the star, before he bursts out into laughter, turning his head away to hide how his nose scrunches up.

“That’s a _plane_ , Kuroo, oh my god.”

“I _knew_ that.”

But his tone is too defensive for it to be true and he knows that Oikawa knows, so he does what he does best to avoid Oikawa’s teasing and changes the topic. When Oikawa’s giggles die down, restrained to an amused smile hidden behind the back of Oikawa’s hand, Tetsurou asks him.

“It’s past midnight, isn’t it?”

Oikawa nods, humming an affirmative. Tetsurou grins, twining their fingers together even more.

“Happy birthday, Oikawa.”

 

 

  * **September, second year**



 

Ushijima sprains his ankle the day before the match. His smile is unsteady, apologetic and frustrated as he struggles his way into the gym. The coach won’t let him play, won’t let him jeopardize his future as professional for the sake of a meaningless game in college.

“We count on you, ace,” he says, clapping a hand against Bokuto’s back and Bokuto shines, smile bright and reassuring, summoning smiles upon the faces of their teammates. They still have this.

Worry gnaws at Tetsurou, because no matter how convincing his smile is, Bo hasn’t been doing well lately and Tetsurou knows.

 

 

Tetsurou gets there late. Fingers mere millimeters behind, too slow, too late to stop the ball from flying past. He gets there late. Or Bokuto does, jumping in to try and close the wall. Or their libero even, diving for the ball to pick up where it crashed through Tetsurou’s defense. They’re all a little too late, a little too slow to stop the inevitable, mere seconds behind.

On the third set and two points behind, their season ends early.

Just like that, they lose.

 

 

“This sucks,” Bokuto says, shoving his fries to the side. Tetsurou shoves the pack of fries back with a determined frown, urging Bokuto to eat.

“It’s been a week now, we need to focus on next season,” Ushijima says, straightforward and unemotional, but there is a deep crease in his forehead as he watches Bokuto reject the fries, plate untouched. Ushijima is not the only one to worry. Tetsurou almost thought he wouldn’t have to worry anymore, not with how good Bokuto had become at fixing himself, always the first to pull through with sunny laughter and reckless optimism. But Bokuto doesn’t seem to be pulling through this time.

“We can work on your serve tomorrow,” Oikawa says, rubbing a hand up and down Bokuto’s back.

“The team with the better six is stronger,” he continues, sharp gaze resting on Ushijima, “so let’s just … work hard at getting stronger.”

“We were,” Tetsurou says with a grim smile, putting his burger down and shoving it to the side himself. “We were stronger it’s just –”

“I wasn’t in the game,” Bokuto says, expression troubled. “I mean I was, but my head kept getting in the way. I wasn’t _there_.”

And the fact he’s talking about it, opening himself not only to Tetsurou but Oikawa and Ushijima that way, means there’s already less to worry about than Tetsurou first thought. Oikawa shoves his shoulders against Bokuto’s softly, smiling with some sense of understanding.

“You will when it counts,” he says.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Ushijima says, “I wasn’t in the game either.”

A grin spreads over his face, genuine and contagious, summoning the beginnings of a smile on Bokuto’s lips. Tetsurou breaks out in laughter just as Oikawa rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t pick up their horrible sense of humor, Ushiwaka-chan, _please_.”

Later, when they’re walking home, Tetsurou will wrap an arm around Koutarou’s shoulder and pull him closer. He will invite him to stay over, without Oikawa, without Ushijima, just the two of them. It’s been long overdue.

 

 

They were supposed to be studying, yet now Oikawa lays stretched out over his sofa, hair mussed and lazy smile stretched over his lips. Tetsurou sits on the floor next to him, elbow nestled into the empty space of the couch next to Oikawa, head resting in his palm. It’s warm as the last of sunrays filter through Tetsurou’s window, a little too hot under Tetsurou’s collar. He may or may not be gazing down upon Oikawa with something akin to adoration in his eyes. If pointed out, he’ll deny it.

Oikawa’s running fingers through Tetsurou’s hair, trying to make sense of his messy bed head. Smiles are curled over their lips, talking about everything and nothing, about TV shows and favorite music and why Oikawa seems to attract mosquitoes even this time of year.

“My head says Ushijima but my heart says Bo,” Tetsurou says when they’re discussing their personal pick for the next ace. Oikawa chuckles, fingers soft against Tetsurou’s temples as they slide through his hair, each time strangled less and less by the plentitude of knots in Tetsurou’s hair.

“I’m telling Ushijima,” he says.

“Go ahead,” Tetsurou says, bluffing and grinning that open, devious grin, “I _dare_ you.”

The smile on Oikawa’s face widens and Oikawa rolls his eyes. Slowly, his fingers still in Tetsurou’s hair and a frown creeps up on him, eyebrows creased together in a thoughtful furrow. A finger slides down from Tetsurou’s temple, runs over his cheekbone and down his jaw.

“I think,” Oikawa says, bringing his gaze to where his thumb rests on Tetsurou’s bottom lip. He lifts his eyes then, meeting Tetsurou’s with that same, troubled furrow still nestled between his eyebrows. His thumb glides down with a soft tug.

“I think you want to kiss me,” he says.

Tetsurou chuckles on empty air, unsettled and awkward and so _oh-god-no-this-can’t-be-happening_ , and tries to find his breath. He wants to deflect the situation, wants to make some bad joke about how he _did_ warn Oikawa that he has a bad habit of falling for his friends, but then Oikawa grins, continuing.

 “And I…” Oikawa says, lips pursed together into a pensive pout, “I want you to kiss me.”

Tetsurou chokes out another chuckle, chest heaving hard and erratic with emotions he can’t put a name to, because it’s too much. It’s all too much.

“You’re playing,” Tetsurou says, shivering, and Oikawa smiles that sweet, delightful genuine smile, teeth showing as his hands sift through Tetsurou’s hair once more.

“Maybe,” he says, smile turning into a grin, “but I do really want you to kiss me.”

So Tetsurou grazes the back of his knuckles over Oikawa’s cheek, pushes Oikawa’s mussed hair backwards, and presses their lips together. Oikawa’s lips are a little dry against his own, a little chapped, but Tetsurou’s heartbeat still races, his head still whirls. The kisses start slow and pick up speed when Oikawa meets him kiss for kiss, persistent to give as much as he gets. His teeth catch on Tetsurou’s lips, and Tetsurou grunts when Oikawa pulls him closer, humming with pleasure.

(There is a hickey in the crook of Tetsurou’s neck the next day; one that Bokuto not so subtly points out during practice, one that Tetsurou not so subtly denies exists.)

 

 

  * **November, second year**



 

It’s been raining lately; drops running down Tetsurou’s apartment window in slow trickles, light showers to rush through between classes. Tetsurou stands in the doorway of the gym, frowning at the drops falling in a way that is most definitely not trickling down, not a light shower he can just run through. It’s pouring outside, rain crashing into the tiles, and fuck him, he left his umbrella at home.

He could wait the rainstorm out, stand in the doorway until it passes. Or he could go back inside, get in some more practice. Except coach told him to go home and rest and Tetsurou doesn’t want to risk having to explain to his irascible coach why he isn’t actually resting.

“Oh, so you didn’t end up stealing my umbrella,” a voice lights up behind him and Tetsurou tries not to cringe. They haven’t really talked since. Since the ~~kiss~~ , kisses? Since that night. Especially not without either Bokuto or Ushijima around. Tetsurou tries to smile his most honest. Oikawa tries the same.

“We can share my umbrella,” he offers, slipping into his shoes, and his tone of voice is so careful, so guarded – this isn’t how they should be.

“Thanks,” Tetsurou says, “that’d save me a lot of time.”

Tetsurou reaches for the only remaining umbrella, a dark green, in the umbrella stand and grins when Oikawa asks him what he thinks he’s doing.

“Taller person holds the umbrella,” he explains.

“You’re only taller by a few centimeter,” Oikawa says, scoffing as he walks over, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. There is a light smile on their faces now, somewhere close to genuine.

Tetsurou opens the umbrella, lets Oikawa huddle closer (but not too close, just a little, shoulders not quite touching) and they set off into the big, wide world that is their campus, the rain beating down against the canopy of the umbrella. It’s uneasy, the mood between them not exactly cushy, and their earlier chattering has turned silent. Apparently Oikawa deems it needs fixing.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, redirecting his gaze away. Tetsurou swallows; he doesn’t want to do this, not now, not ever. But confrontation, as difficult as it is, is necessary.

“Yeah,” he says, acknowledging, “you’ve been avoiding me too.”

Oikawa breathes in, breathes out a forced chuckle.

“Yeah,” he nods. A beat of silence and then, “we shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You know,” Oikawa continues, “Ushiwaka-chan asked me why we’ve been acting weird.”

Tetsurou chuckles, genuinely this time, because it reminds him of Bokuto somehow, who has been ambushing him around every corner ever since he caught on enough to realize _something_ was different and it wasn’t the good kind of different.

Oikawa reaches for the umbrella, mumbling something about his shoulder getting soaked. Their fingers bump together and Tetsurou flinches just as Oikawa snakes his hand back. Tetsurou stares at his fingers and strengthens his hold on the umbrella. Oikawa scrapes his throat.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Oikawa says at last, once again careful, once again guarded.

Tetsurou takes the time to let that sink in. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Not even a little bit of anything. It just happened, it doesn’t have to be special. And that’s just the thing isn’t it, it means something because of the mere fact his eyes linger, that he wants to kiss Oikawa, that he _wants_. That never just happens to him, Tetsurou never just – but it doesn’t have to mean anything.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Alright,” he says.

 

 

November 17 marks Tetsurou’s birthday and Bokuto, despite Tetsurou’s insisting that it is not necessary _at all_ , decides to throw him the best birthday party ever. All in all it’s a good thing, Tetsurou figures, that Bokuto knows him well enough to throw something small. It’s just them and their old teammates, along with some fond acquaintances Bokuto thought would appreciate the invitation.

They’re holding a movie sleepover, Tetsurou nestled comfortably into his couch. Kenma lies curled into his side, hair a little greasy but soft beneath Tetsurou’s fingers. He is playing one of his games, only glancing up every once in a while when one of them points out something ridiculous on the TV screen. Lev sits a little farther away on the couch, hands running over Kenma’s legs absent-mindedly.

Yaku couldn’t quite make it, something to do with a paper and an urgent deadline, but Kai is there, leaning against the front of the sofa and joined in conversation with Yamamoto and Akaashi. Bokuto lies a little farther away, sprawled over the floor with Ushijima to his side and Oikawa on his other side, talking to Sawamura about something that has them laughing. Tetsurou tries, really tries, to ignore the glances Oikawa sometimes sends his way.

Leftover pieces of grilled mackerel Bokuto made lie forgotten on the table, as well as some slices of cake Kenma brought over. Kenma mumbles something into his sweater then, something about being thirsty and when Tetsurou glances over to the table, he notices they’re almost out of drinks. He gives Kenma’s head a last pet and manages to crawl out of the couch somehow.

“Anyone else want something to drink?” he asks, smoothing over his clothes. There are some calls for specific drinks and others shaking their heads no and Tetsurou grunts, nodding as he leaves for the kitchen.

“Need any help?” Kai asks, calling from where he sits against the sofa.

“Nah,” Tetsurou says with a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

He leaves the kitchen door open when he walks in, opens the fridge to peer inside and see what drinks are still left and purses his lips together in contemplation at what he finds. There’s some more bottles of soda, some cans of coke that Yamamoto brought over, but not much else. They should go for another run to the convenience store soon, to stock up some more.

Tetsurou puts the drinks they still have on top of the kitchen counter and moves towards the sink to refill the water filter. He is halfway when there is a knock on the kitchen door and Tetsurou chuckles.

“I said I’d be fine.”

It’s Oikawa, and not Kai as Tetsurou expected, who clears his throat and walks farther into the kitchen.

“Anything I can help with?” he asks and Tetsurou turns his head, smiling. They’ve been okay lately, quick to fall back into their dynamic as friends to a point that Tetsurou suspects even Bokuto’s not worrying anymore.

“If you insist,” he grins and motions towards the kitchen counter, “could you take the first of those bottles back to the living room with you?”

Tetsurou turns back towards the sink when Oikawa moves to do as asked. He watches the water fill up the filter, rising up, up, up, startling when Oikawa calls his name. Tetsurou turns his head to the side and comes face to face with Oikawa, standing too close, too much. A frown rests on Oikawa’s face, troubled and deep as it ripples his forehead into tiny creases, and it pulls the rug from under Tetsurou’s feet. Oikawa lifts a careful hand, knuckles bending into a curl, so close to touching Tetsurou’s cheek.

“Is this okay?” he asks, eyes searching Tetsurou’s for something and Tetsurou closes his eyes, focuses on breathing, and nods.

Oikawa’s hands are cautious against his cheekbone, gentle but rough from a lifetime dedicated to volleyball. Tetsurou wants an explanation, wants to ask why, yet doesn’t want Oikawa to stop.

Oikawa clears his throat again, fingers stilling against Tetsurou’s cheek. Tetsurou opens his eyes, in time to see Oikawa bite down on his bottom lip, and they linger, treacherous as ever.

“Can –” he starts, struggling to get the words out, “can I …”

“Yes,” Tetsurou says, a whisper, a breath of air; he wants this. It surprises Tetsurou, how much he wants even when it’s not supposed to mean anything. Even when it doesn’t, not to Oikawa.

“Yes,” he breathes again, “you can.”

Oikawa’s hand rests against Tetsurou’s neck, thumb swiping up and down over the length of it and he leans in, pulling them closer and bringing their lips together. Tetsurou pushes into the kiss. He lets their lips slide together and pries Oikawa’s mouth open, slippery slick and wet as he curls his tongue up against the roof of it and swallows the little sounds they make.

When they return to the living room, bottles of soda clasped between their arms and their sides, drinks in hand, Bokuto gives Tetsurou a knowing look from across the room. One that says he is not going to ask, not now anyways, but that he wants an explanation. And as Tetsurou settles back into the couch, Kenma crawling over to nestle into his side, he can feel Kenma pinch his thigh.

 

 

  * **January, second year**



 

‘ _Happy New Year! Miss me yet?_ ’ Oikawa sends a text on New Year’s eve.

Tetsurou grins and brushes off his mother when she asks why he is smiling so hard.

‘ _Yes,_ ’ he replies, _‘living without your creative descriptions of my hair is pure torture.’_

He waits a beat, hesitating, and pulls his phone back out.

_‘Happy New Year! Come back soon, yeah?’_

‘ _Understood. Don’t forget to visit your shrine tomorrow!_ ’

 

 

Oikawa returns during the beginning of mid-January.

They kiss a lot. Quick pecks or slow presses, sweet or warm as fire.

They kiss a lot. Everywhere. Tetsurou pulls Oikawa down to his sofa, to his bed. Oikawa crawls on top of him on the floor, pushes him up against the kitchen counter and hidden hallway corners when they think the others don’t know. They kiss at his doorstep, when Oikawa returns home, always much later than the others, and when Oikawa is the first to arrive.

They kiss a lot. Sometimes their noses bump into each other and their teeth collide but it never fails to make their heartbeats flutter and pupils dilate. It makes the palms of their hands clammy, greases their hair from running their fingers through it, swells their lips from the pressure and bruises their collarbones with hickeys. Thank god for turtlenecks. And Bokuto, who looks the other way when the hickeys show, who knows and worries and pretends not to. For their sake. Because Tetsurou assured him it’s okay, they know what they’re doing. Even when they don’t.

They kiss a lot, but it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Even when Tetsurou wants it to.

 

 

  * **March, second year**



 

Spring break seems to last an eternity and they spend it at the gym, working out or training, or in Tetsurou’s apartment, watching matches in preparation of the next season. They take diligent notes, paying close attention to dangerous players amongst the teams that are potential threats, and devour snacks like never before. Despite the fact he doesn’t make the ace position, Bokuto takes it the most serious out of all of them and denotes sleepovers a regular occurrence, falling asleep sprawled over Tetsurou’s floor when they turn their strategy meetings into late night sessions.

Today’s not one of those days, Ushijima’s sweater lying over one of the chairs, forgotten when they left. It’s only Oikawa and Tetsurou right now, the TV still playing a match in the background. Oikawa’s fast asleep in the sofa, lips parted as he drools into Tetsurou’s favorite pillow. Tetsurou returns to the living room carrying the guest futon. He tucks Oikawa in, so careful not to wake him that he misses the moment when the snores stop, when Oikawa closes his mouth and stops drooling.

Tetsurou hovers over Oikawa, fond smile charming itself onto his face as he watches him sleep. He sighs, heavy and tired, and pushes Oikawa’s hair back. Bokuto is right to worry, Tetsurou can tell from the way his heart swells and too much affection pours out. Tetsurou just wants to be brave enough to speak his mind and deal with the consequences.

“I don’t want us to not mean anything.”

Tetsurou freezes, because Oikawa is awake, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes, hiding, his face wringing together with anguish. Because Oikawa heard him.

“Don’t say that,” he says. So Tetsurou repeats himself.

“I don’t want us to not mean anything.”

Oikawa lowers his palms and blinks up at Tetsurou, eyes glassy. His lips are still set into a bothered purse and Tetsurou wants to smooth his thumb over it, wants to lift the crease into a smile.

“I didn’t – ugh,” Oikawa croaks, “you seemed so spooked and jumpy, so I thought you wanted the kiss but not …”

“But not?”

“Me?” Oikawa says, voice cracking. “So I said that. Because you liked Bokuto or Kenma or whichever one of your ridiculously attractive friends you like and I just got so _insecure_ and I’m sorry for screwing this up so bad and –”

And they both screwed up, didn’t they? Tetsurou reaches out a hand towards Oikawa’s, twining their fingers together the way they did at summer camp. He doesn’t let Oikawa ramble on.

“It’s you,” he says.

Oikawa blinks up at him, confused but clinging onto Tetsurou’s hand.

“What?”

“You’re the ridiculously attractive friend I liked,” Tetsurou says, grinning now, “… that I like.”

Oikawa chuckles then, smiling that genuine smile that always makes Tetsurou stare, bright and happy and a little heartbroken as he tugs Tetsurou closer and makes him stumble into the couch, into the empty space next to him.

“I want us to mean something too,” he says.

So Tetsurou smoothes Oikawa’s hair back one last time, lets his finger trail the outlines of his face, and leans in closer. Oikawa’s hand sneaks into Tetsurou’s hair, tugs at the strands, and his lips seek him out press after press, still chapped and willing and eager as they slide open under his.

It’s not much different from before, no new reality, and yet it’s nothing alike at all.

Because this time they are kissing and it means something.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! :3 it's always appreciated!
> 
> also, if you enjoyed the fic consider giving me a quick reblog over on [tumblr.](http://directorennoshita.tumblr.com/post/148434835783/whats-it-gonna-be-directorennoshita)
> 
>  
> 
> headcanons that popped up whilst writing but that I did not manage to write into the fic:
> 
>   * The first time Oikawa sets to Bokuto, Bokuto calls him the best and Oikawa, having picked up on the name several times now, asks him if he's better than Akaashi. Bokuto cannot answer. It grows into an inside joke from there on, where whenever Bokuto calls Oikawa the best, Oikawa asks him if he's better than Akaashi. By the end of their second year, Bokuto's response has changed to 'almost as good'.
>   * Kuroo's apartment is actually one of his aunt's apartments. She owns several apartments that she rents out and decided to rent one to her adorable nephew at a lower price. Kuroo is persistent about keeping it as clean and undamaged as possible and constantly nags at everyone in his apartment not to make a mess.
>   * Yes, that _was_ Bokuto helping Oikawa with his English. Bokuto is a natural at English, perfect accent and everything. Except that accent is Australian. No one knows why.
>   * It's actually because Bokuto had a foreigner friend living in the neighborhood when he was a kid. Turns out, Bokuto's a pro at (speaking) languages. He's decent at Chinese too and tries to teach himself Spanish in his free time.
>   * Bokuto's the type to randomly address foreigners in Tokyo that look like they are lost and then turn himself into their personal guide. He's dragged Kuroo on at least three of these impromptu guide tours.
>   * Oikawa and Ushijima go on to receive offers by the same volleyball team. Because Ushijima accepted his, Oikawa refuses and decides to play with a different team. Even though now he would even go as far as to call them friends, Ushijima is still his rival.
> 



End file.
